Kleptomaniac
by The Book of Jude
Summary: There are many secrets--some as precious as gold. But they go against everything you've ever known. [AU: mostly Julius-centric]


1.

_Eire, the Emerald Isle. _

_Flowing forests and landscapes littered with trees—hills that reached towards the sky and the trees upon them that reached forth their leaves to suck up the warmth of the sun. Cities would spring up and overtake the forests and the green grasses, and very soon the old tongue would be forgotten by the nations that lived there. The Tuatha Dé Danann had long since been forced into the underworld by the Milesians, but their offspring still roamed the lands._

_They had become the Aes Sidhe, the people of the hills—and beneath such hills they dwelt. But their offspring—with so many names and so many places in the mythologies of the world that their true ascendants had been long forgotten—lived on. They practiced the magic beneath the full moon and by the ancient oak at the twisted water; they gave back to the earth their thanks, back to the Aes Sidhe from whom they took their power._

_The offspring—the fairy folk—would pluck a seed from the earth, a gift from the Aes Sidhe, and burry it in a patch of fresh earth, and from there they would have their power refreshed. The book—their bible—told of all the rituals involved, and the rules and regulations of the fairy folk's society: the book had been penned by the Tuatha Dé Danann before their descendents, so that their offspring would be able to keep the secrets, and the power the secrets had._

That night, the Wild Hunt roamed: the moon was full and, at the bend in the river, upon a small hill, there grew an ancient oak. Its leaves spread high and fluttered in the gentle breeze, and the shadowed group walked—flowed—across the ground like oil upon water. In the lull of the breeze, the gentle chanting in an ancient tongue echoed—but when the group reached the top of the hill and settled in the shadows cast by the oak tree, it stopped.

'Máthair?' a small voice asked. Child's voice.

While the moon lulled behind the clouds, a woman bent—even when standing at full height, she only came up to the navel of a human—and gently shushed the child. He was half her height, with blonde hair that would fade and change colour many times over the years—'Shhh,' she whispered—voice tinted with a drip of soothing magic—'just follow what I do…'

She was the first to step forward, out of the shadows and into the scattered fullness of the moon—and even though she was short, she held her age and her knee-length red hair tapered at her neck into a mane. It could be said that she was a dramatic effect—but she didn't care. 

The seed she plucked glowed for but a second, and then it disappeared as she turned and planted it in the path of land that was free from shadows. There was a slight sigh, and she pushed it into the earth with her finger. Then she breathed: 'The power returns,' and she stepped away.

The rest followed in suit, until there was only one left: the boy—_and in the years, hundreds of years, to come: he'd be many things, but in his mind he'd always remember that incident…_—

Later, she stood with him as the sun rose.

'Do you understand, now?' she asked.

Ten years—a long time—but even between his first ritual and his leaving, the magic was already beginning to fade, and the people were beginning to flee.

'Yes,' he said. 'I do.'

2.

The book was published in the autumn, by the renowned sorcerer, Math Mathonwy. It was entitled 'The Secret Magics', and sold faster than an umbrella on a rainy day. Not that it ever rained in downtown Haven, or anywhere else—still, it sold.

Julius Root sat in his office at LEP. He would have been yelling at someone had he not decided to read the book that everyone was talking about—he'd started it late last night, when the artificial light of Mog Roth had dimmed into twilight, and before long it was all he could think about. Everyone was talking about it, and he could see why—even the critics weren't being very critical of it.

It was a controversy

Everyone knew the magics—the book told the magics that the people were gifted with—but now… Now this Math Mathonwy—the superstar without a face—was revealing the second, deeper layer of fairy magic.

Julius felt his pulse quicken.

—he calmed it.

_One of the deepest, and most easier to use magics is mesmer, _the book read, _the power to control with voice: but mesmer is just the first layer of voice controlled magic. The Aes Sidhe have gifted us with so many magics—replenished by the ritual—but we have forgotten the magics that dwell inside our blood—in our veins. The Secrets passed down by the blood of the Queen Rosmerta, and Lord Lugh, and all the other Dé Danann. We have forgotten these._

Julius sighed and shook his head: it was familiar, like an echo from the past. A bit of history repeating itself, perhaps: 'Well,' he said, 'I'm sure máthair would be proud.'

The pages fluttered.

In the street, a silent whisper arose: 'It is…'

_…time we remembered them._

3.

The council called an emergency meeting that night.

4.

Lope was the first to object to the—'abomination! It goes against the book! It goes against everything that out ancestors taught us!'—and was soon joined by the rest of the council members. The outcry on the streets was different though—sprites, fairies, elves and everyone else that had the ability to think lobbied outside publishing houses and copies of The Secret Magics were thrown about with great cheer.

Vinyáya stood on the balcony.

'Do you really believe it's possible?' she asked Cahartez.

He shook his head, so she sighed and turned back to the balcony. The riot grew.

'Will it never end?'

But Cahartez was gone, so nobody listened.

5.

_Fairies, and all descendants of the Aes Sidhe, have a special affinity for the elements. Earth being the main one, but also the air, and water, and fire: they are fascinated with gems and jewellery, but more so with gold than any other element. The word to describe their fascination with gold would be 'kleptomaniac'; they also have an innate love of flying, though years of evolution have left them with nothing more of a memory of wings, and the bones to prove it._

_Everything though, was about to change._

Briar Cudgeon wasn't much of a person at first—but what he lacked in personality, he made up with friendliness. That was the main reason that, when Julius Root walked into him in the street that they became friends. And friends they were for six hundred years. Give or take. But like everything else, some things just have to fade—and friendship was one of them. Along with other things.

Briar Cudgeon went out with a sizzling noise. Or so they say.

He came in with one, too: the cigarette he'd been smoking sizzled as it landed in the puddle. Julius went flying, and landed on his back about three feet away, while Briar mourned the loss of his last cigarette: 'D'Arvit,' echoed.

'Sorry,' Briar slurred.

_—half-drunk—_

Julius glared. 

And so, the doomed friendship started.

6.

Night fell with the loss of Mog Roth's artificial light—but still they rioted: and only a day had passed since a warrant for Math Mathonwy had been issued and all unsold copies of The Secret Magics had been seized and destroyed. But even still—people surged forth in crowds, clutching their own books and—the magic was so thick that the air shimmered, as in great heat.

It was like nothing Julius had ever felt before—it was oppressive, like the humidity, but more so.

The air almost crackled—and to those who had most recently taken the ritual, it was like looking through fog. Thick fog. Oppressive fog. It was almost hard to walk.

—_by the LEP headquarters, a frantic woman pushed a baby in a stroller; the wheels squeaked, counterpoint to the screaming riots: her baby squealed, screamed and bawled, and_—in one ear, Julius could hear nothing but the riots, and in the other ear there was the squeaking wheel and the baby screaming and the echo of the riot.

It was enough to give him a migraine.

It would be a full moon, that night on the surface: millions of fairy folk were dancing around the Lia Fail at Tara, and the magic—the air'd be thick with magic, thicker than it currently was—would flow; but it wouldn't be _real_ magic. It would be this artificial, old magic. And even though Julius had turned his copy of the book back in, the lingering words echoed in his head.

_It is time to reclaim this old magic once more. So that our race can thrive…_

He stopped at a corner. There were no cars. The traffic lights changed to red.

'It isn't real,' he told himself. 'It's just artificial. There's nothing to it.'

7.

Tomorrow, the sun would rise on a new day for the world. A new day with changes.

8.

It started slowly at first—like a crack in a fine china plate—and soon blossomed out. Each crack grew another crack grew another, and then finally there was nothing but a marble network of cracks, and the Council collapsed: the riots were oppressive, powerful—no matter what you did to one riot, another one would start up a few blocks away and then another, until there were no more of the LEP left to deal with them.

It was Vinyáya who first suggested using magic to subdue them. Powerful magic—but it wasn't enough. 

The power the Aes Sidhe gave could never conquer the power that the Aes Sidhe had in their blood—in the blood of their offspring—so all attempts failed.

It was late Autumn when the council fall, and Julius Root put his badge back into the small safe in the back of his apartment in one of the shadier sections of Haven, and sighed: the riots were coming closer, and he could either join them or suffer the force that was an uncontrolled crowd. It was risky. But he closed his eyes and counted to ten, and his mother smiled at him: because it was the right thing to do.

A door splintered as a foot slammed through it, and Root joined in. 

And then there was nothing but adrenaline.

9.

_The world wasn't meant to be like that: the sun had dawned that morning on the devastation. Fires still burned in houses, children ran around the streets screaming for the parents that wouldn't come, and the world was more of an utter ruin than anything else. It had started with a great explosion in the centre of Dublin—hundreds of thousands of people apparently died, only the children surviving._

_And then it had spread, like a drop of water on a tissue. Outwards, in a circular motion: heralded by great screaming and a buzzing noise that resembled the whistling before it exploded. But the whistling kept on going, even through the explosion. And then the demons came. _

_They weren't very large, half the height of a human, but dressed entirely in black with angel like black wings. Black hair—artificial black hair—streaking behind them, and their wings flapping and fireballs and lightning bolts and floods springing forth from their hands. Nobody knew what they were. _

_Except for one person._

Artemis Fowl had changed a lot since the Arctic Incident, as it had been labelled in his files. He was no longer a child—and well on his way to adulthood. Everything had been put away with his father's return, but recently… he'd managed to start up his activities again: Butler stood with the other motorcycle as Artemis sighed and leant against the tree—_ancient tree, familiar tree: at the top of a hill, at the bend of the water_—and the oak seeds crackled below him.

'You're here,' Holly Short said as she stepped from the shadows.

'Yes,' he replied. Butler didn't look at all startled at her sudden appearance.

'You've grown,' she eyed him up and down.

Artemis stood up. He towered over her by quite a bit. He was almost as tall as Butler: 'Why did you want to speak to me? I've got a lot of work to do—' he gestured towards the smoke rising from the buildings in the distance—'to counter what your… people, have done to us.'

She glared—up—at him: 'What we have done to you? You're people have polluted the world, had wars and done worse to yourselves and us than we have done to you!'

He stood his ground. 'The other day,' he said, 'I saw a child, clinging to his mother's chest: she was dead.'

Holly sighed—'God,—' she said, '—I know you're right… I just… can't accept it. That my people could do such a thing…'

Artemis shook his head: 'You said you knew how it started—and maybe a way to stop it, but we don't have much time before the next patrol. Unless this is going to take only a few seconds, maybe you should come with us?'

She looked undecided for a second—and then she nodded. 'All right, this'll take a while.'

10.

'Interesting,' Artemis put the cup down on the table. Holly sat across from him with a frown on her face.

'So,' Artemis' brow furrowed, 'this Math Matthonwy—a sorcerer—managed to reveal some type of raw power that you kind have in their blood?'

Holly nodded. 

'And these powers—your people, without the say-so of their council, took control, and are trying to regain the surface?'

Holly nodded again.

Artemis leaned back against the chair and swore: 'Fuck.'

She raised an eyebrow: he'd changed a lot. Artemis Fowl hadn't been one to swear—but then she supposed that this war, if you could even call it anything other than a totalitarian massacre, had changed everyone: Juliet turned from the window of the small cottage near the giants causeway. 'This isn't good,' she said.

'I agree,' Butler said. He turned to Holly: 'Is there any way that, with your magic, you can counter them?'

She shook her head.

'There's a small resistance, headed by myself and Foaly—you remember him?—and the remaining council members. We're scattered out amongst the tunnels—mostly in the places that the rest of the people have left.' She sighed, and sipped from her glass of water. 'There's about a hundred of us, maybe more, maybe less. More people join every day.'

Artemis let his head rest on the back of his chair: 'This isn't good,' he said. 'I don't think that's going to stop them.'

Holly nodded. 'Nothing on this world will.'

11.

Julius Root donned his Shadow and glanced at the scanner on his wrist: they were close, he was certain. They were the only ones nearby that had survived the first Wave. And the only Wave, he hoped: but he knew that the worst was still to come. The mud people had tried their best to defend themselves, but the new society of his people was too powerful: he could see it now.

A year. A full year since he'd taken off his badge and joined the masses.

And like the phoenix, society had risen from the ashes of Haven: people flocked there, as magical constructs rendered the enormous rooves as simply a slight hindrance to the sky above them, and for the first time, the real light from the world above filtered down: Math Mathonwy, he'd led them, a better society. A magical society. Julius hardly recognised himself those days.

The paunch was gone, the age had flown away from his face and his hair had returned to the same blonde colour it had been in his youth. It was a familiar him who looked back in the mirror in the mornings—Mathonwy's society was almost Neo-Nazism, and Julius had to have complied lest he be the next to perish amongst the masses of old friends and acquaintances. He laughed and resembled those elvish bodybuilders. 

And the operation had replaced the genetic memory of wings in his blood to an almost déjà vu like feeling. They folded away neatly enough, but when he wanted to they stretched—each of them—to the same height as himself: and he was one of the Shadowed, the attackers.

The mud people had called them demons.

But they were more the avenging angel types.

He shook his head back to the present: they were close, he could feel it—sense it, taste it: whatever it was—and when he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could hear the gentle conversation echoing on the other side of the walls. He activated his Shadow's shield and took a deep breath before he walked through the door.

'Hello Short,' he said. 

She jumped.

12.

It was an exchange of positions.

The Fey ruled from the skies, in their giant class castles and on the earth they went about their business as they had done thousands of years before, when the Tuatha Dé Danann still walked amongst them. The Wild Hunt continued to roam, but the rituals and the book had fallen into disuse—no longer did the Fey come out of the earth and replenish their magic where ancient oak, full moon and twisted water met.

'This is a scream,' she laughed and her hair flew behind her.

And now, the mud people became exactly that: they dwelled beneath the earth in modified homes, and went about their business as best as they could and for the most part, the Fey ignored them. And in the three years it had taken to put humanity back on the path to recovery, Artemis had changed even more.

'I agree,' he said.

Holly turned and looked at him.

'Do you think it was right, what we did?'

He surveyed the world lain out before them—New Haven, it become called, where refugee human and Fey alike mingled—and then nodded his head: 'In a few decades,' he said, 'it'll all be worth it…'

'I hope so,' Holly said. 'I hope so.'

They turned and went their separate ways, but in the future they'd meet again.

—and the then the world mingled once more, and later there were no humans and fey in New Haven.

The Merged lived on.


End file.
